


Baser Instincts

by 7r33h0u53r3fu633



Category: markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Eiffel Tower, M/M, Massage, Other, Robot Character, Self Insert, gender ambiguous reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 22:39:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19485457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7r33h0u53r3fu633/pseuds/7r33h0u53r3fu633
Summary: Wilford interrupts some private time between you and Google.





	Baser Instincts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NBmess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NBmess/gifts).



You were sitting at the kitchen table when Google came up behind you. You weren't expecting that - Google could be eerily quiet when he wanted to be, and you were still getting used to that. You were reading your book, your elbows on the table, the room quiet, apart from the occasional sound of you turning the page.

Google's hands on your shoulders made you jump, and you would have been embarrassed, except you were getting better at that. He rested his chin on top of your head, and then he rested his chest against your back, his arms dangling down the front of your chest.

"Hi," you said.

"Is it a good book?" His voice rumbled through his chest, vibrating through your skin. 

"It's a pretty good book," you told him, and you sighed as he began to kiss along your neck, his lips ticklish. 

"What's it about?" His lips pressed into your pulse point, and you sighed again, leaning forward into the table, going limp.

"I haven't the foggiest," you told him, and your breath caught in your throat as he nipped it, gently. 

"The foggiest, huh?" His mouth went to your earlobe, sucked on it. It was interesting, how his mouth managed to be wet when he didn't have any salivary glands or anything like that. Maybe you were focusing on something weird, considering how nice it felt to have his mouth on you, how wonderful a warm body pressing into your own was, but...well, you'd always been the type to focus on the things that weren't necessarily vital. 

"The foggiest," you echoed, and you sighed as his tongue traced along the shell of your ear.

"It can't be that good of a book, if you're having that much trouble recalling it," he said, and his hands moved towards your back, the very tips of his fingers sliding under your shirt. 

"You're distracting me," you complained, putting just enough whine in your voice to make it clear that you were joking. "I can't be expected to remember things if you're going to distract me."

"One of the signs that you've really retained what you were studying is that you can remember it, even under duress," said Google, and he said it so earnestly that you could almost believe that he was joking. It could sometimes be a bit tricky to be able to tell if he _was_ joking or not - he was always so deadpan. Which made sense, because he was a robot, but... still.

"I wouldn't exactly call this duress," you said, leaning back into him. You let your eyes slide shut, as he nuzzled into the curve of your shoulder, nibbling on it with his strange robot teeth. 

"I can make it more like duress if you'd like," he said, and his voice was earnest.

"Aren't you Three Laws compliant?" 

"There are many ways to cause duress, without causing any physical harm," said Google. "It would be Three Laws compliant."

"I'm surprised that the Three Laws are still a thing," you said thoughtfully, your mind going off on a tear. "Considering they were written by Asimov all those years ago."

"How long ago were a lot of the holy books written?" Google stood up, and his hands were going to your shoulders, beginning to rub them. 

You groaned, sagging forward, your eyes squeezing shut. He still surprised you with how good he was with his hands - you knew, in your heart of hearts, that he was a robot. And yet, somehow... somehow, it was more than that, wasn't it? You'd bought a companion, which still felt somewhat shameful, but the shame was shrinking away every day, with every new bit of attention he gave you, every bit of affection doled out, even if it wasn't technically real.

Unless it was.

"I can hear you thinking," he said, and he pressed his hand into a particularly difficult knot in your back, which made you groan, the pain and the relief mingling together.

"Can you?" Your voice was only a little choked off.

"Well, no, not really," he said. "That would be impossible. But I suspect you're thinking about something intense, because you're going tense."

"Sorry about that," you told him. "I'm trying not to."

"I am here to please you," he told you, and his tone was so earnest, so sincere, that something in your heart broke, just a little bit. Sure, you had bought him, but... what right did you have for someone to be this devoted to you. And make no mistake, even if he was a robot, he was still a some _one_ , not a some _thing_. 

"You're here for a lot of things," you told him, leaning back into him. His hands kept working at your back, leaving your toes curling and your back arching, leaving you squirming in your chair. You were some mix of aroused and twitchy, your whole body on edge. 

“I am indeed,” he said, and he managed to make it sound like a threat and a promise at the same time. His fingers dug into the back of your neck, and you groaned, tilting back into it. 

“Oh _god_ ,” you moaned. “Fuck, that feels really good.”

“You need to stop slumping forward when you’re reading,’ he told you, “I can purchase you a new chair, that will better support your back.”

‘Thank you,” you mumbled, and you were blushing. It was always strange, to remember that he was a robot. He could be so… sweet, so nearly human, and then he would just casually drop something like that, and it would be another solid reminder that he was, in fact, a robot. 

“Of course,” he said, and then he squeezed again, digging in to all the tender spots that made you shiver and pant. “Although, if I may suggest, this may be a bit easier on your back if you were lying down while you did this.”

“Would it be?” Your stomach did an excited little flip. 

“Oh yes,” said Google. “There would be a lot less pressure on your spine, from an upright position.”

“Right,” you said, and you swallowed, your throat clicking. 

"I'd be very happy to help relieve you of that pressure," Google said, and his voice as practically _purring_ , which was a technique of his that always tricked you up. "If you'd like."

"I'd certainly appreciate that," you told him, and you put a bit of earnestness in your voice as a joke. "I do live a very tense life."

His hand rested on top of your head, and his fingers dug into your scalp, just a little bit. "You should go to the bedroom," he said. 

"Come with me?" You implored.

"Oh, I shall," said Google, and he stood up to his full height, stretching. 

You knew the stretching was for purely ornamental reasons - his whole body was a finely calibrated machine, after all. He didn't need to worry about his muscles feeling knotted up, or his spine needing to be realigned. He just knew that you liked to look at him like that, with his shirt riding up and his arms over his head. He had apparently been programmed to do things like yawn or stretch or blink. People apparently found it unsettling when robots didn't do those sorts of things.

You could believe that - his brief glimpses of inhumanity were enough to give you the occasional case of the heebie jeebies, although you weren't sure what about it that creeped you out so much. Maybe some kind of uncanny valley effect. 

"Shall we?" Google made a flourishing hand motion, indicating for you to make your way towards the bedroom.

You put your bookmark into your book, and you closed your book, making your way towards the bedroom. You can't help the slight anxiety on the very edges of your mind, although you feel a bit silly for it. This is nowhere _near_ the first time the two of you have gotten intimate, and yet your stomach is churning. Why is it churning? You don't know. He still looks like a person, even though you know, logically, that he isn't one. Or is he?

"What are you thinking about?" Google taps you on the temple, giving you a thoughtful look.

"Oh, nothing important," you said, and you cleared your throat. It wasn't ever really a good time to tell someone else that you were considering whether they were a person or not. Well, no, that was a bad way to frame it, because people were people, regardless of whether they looked like people or not, but... well.

You grabbed the front of his shirt, and you kissed him, to distract yourself from your own racing thoughts. You sighed, as his hands moved to your back, cupping your shoulder blades, then moving up and down along either side of your spine. His hands went lower, to your ass, and they pulled you closer to him. His tongue was inside of your mouth, his lips moving gently, with just the right amount of pressure. He was always the best kisser you'd ever... well, kissed, which also still took a bit of getting used to. Kissing someone who watched up to how you wanted to be kissed... _exactly_ could be a bit eerie, even if it was wonderful. Maybe you'd write to his manufacturer, to teach them how to give their robots a few flaws. To make things more interesting, or something. 

He sighed into your mouth, and you knew that intellectually, it was just him venting some of the hot air building up in his fans into you. But fuck, having a lover sigh and clutch you a little tighter... well, few things were as hot as that. You were trembling, as you held on to him, kissing him deeper, your jaw working. One of his hands had moved up, to cup your cheek, his thumb against your cheekbone, his palm supporting your jaw. He traced along the line of your teeth with the tip of his tongue, and then he pulled back. "So," he said, and his forehead was right up against your own, "we should get you to the bedroom."

"Right," you said, breathless. "Right, you should. We should. I should?" Your head was spinning, arousal moving through you in a slow, almost lazy pulse. Your heart was beating desperately in your ears, in the back of your throat, and you clutched at his shirt. 

"We should," said Google, and he was guiding you now, as if you were some particularly stupid individual. "I'm going to rub your back. Help you get rid of all of that tension."

You bit back a smile. Google could be... surprisingly literal sometimes, although maybe it wasn't that much of a surprise. He was a robot, after all. Still. 

"You don't have to rub my back," you told him. "Since I figured you were just talking about sex."

"Oh, I intend to have sex with you," said Google, and the way he said it - with such clarity, such straightforwardness - was enough to make you blush. "But I also intend to make sure that you're the maximum amount of relaxed when I do so."

"Oh," you mumbled, and you cleared your throat, embarrassed in spite of yourself. "Right. Sorry."

He chuckled, as the both of you entered into your bedroom. He didn't turn on the overhead light, opting instead to go for the bedside lamp. "Get comfortable," he said. "I'm going to get the lotion and a towel."

"Right," you said, a little unsteadily. 

You pulled your shirt off, then your pants. You hesitated, then went for all of your underwear as well. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d seen you naked, and besides, he had said that he wanted to have sex with you. It would be kind of difficult (though not impossible) for him to have sex with you while you were fully dressed. You stood there in your bedroom, and then he was stretching a towel out onto the bed, and you were flopping yourself down on to it, belly down. 

“I’m going to rub all of the tension out of your back,” he said. 

"Looking forward to it," you said, crossing your arms and resting your chin on top of them. Your eyes were half closed, and you heard various sounds behind you - the click of a bottle of lotion being opened, then the wet sound of lotion being squeezed out. His hands were warm as they moved to your back, the lotion warmed more than it would have if he had been a human being. He was probably artificially warming it, somehow.

"Your back is very tense," he said, and he was beginning to knead. The bed creaked, slowly, and then his heavy weight was settling on the backs of your thighs, and his thumbs were digging into your upper back, around your shoulder blades.

"Oh," you murmured, and you gasped, trying not to tense up. He was moving his thumbs in a slow, circular motion, and it was deep enough that you could practically feel your shoulders unknotting in real time. 

"You need to stop hunching over," Google scolded, but it was a light scold. He rolled his hips forward, pressing his erection against your ass. He knew that you liked it when you knew he was enjoying himself.

You squirmed, grinding your own hips forward, your arousal beginning to spread under your skin, like ink and water trapped between two sheets of plastic. Every spot his body was connected to yours seemed to flare brighter, and it was enough to make you squirm some more, panting. 

"You're tensing up again," Google said, and his voice was teasing. Inasmuch as it was ever teasing - it could be hard to tell with him, sometimes.

"Mmm," you murmured. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," said Google. "I'll just have to work harder." He leaned down, and he kissed the side of your neck again, right where it was sweet and vulnerable. You sighed, melting into the bed, and you could feel him grinning against your skin. He had insisted up, down, and sideways that he wasn't actually capable of enjoying anything or having any actual feelings (ala Data from Star Trek, which was a comparison he found amusing and insulting in turn), but, well... he did things for no discernible reason, unless you took enjoyment into account. Which you did, even if he didn't.

He stayed like that for who knew how long, no doubt getting lotion all over his shirt. He didn't seem to mind, at least - he was grinding his hips against your ass, and you were arching up into it, letting yourself enjoy the sensation of being anchored down by a big, warm body. Letting yourself enjoy the sensation of being pinned down under a robot.

He kissed the soft spot behind your ear, and then he sat up. "You should sit up," he told you.

"I should, should I?" You blinked at him, half drowsy with arousal, your whole body tense with it. 

"You very much should," Google said earnestly. "It would help me with relieving some of the tension in your back."

"Right," you said, and you wriggled back against him, intentionally grinding your ass against his erection. "But in order for me to do _that_ , you need to get off of me."

"That is the dilemma, isn't it?" He ground his hips forward again, and you moaned, pressing your own hips back against his. He was hard against you, hard and hot. It was strange, how _hot_ a robot's cock could be, and yet somehow he managed it - he managed it very well, and you had done a lot of thinking about that. 

You were probably going to write a letter to Google at some point, thanking them for such a wonderful machine. There was no doubt that you wouldn't be the first one, or the last. Some cynical part of your mind was pointing out that this was just assisted masturbation with a very expensive, fancy sex toy, but you weren't going to think about that too hard. Instead, you arched against him, and you let him feel the press of your body against his.

"Get up for a sec," you told him. "So I can roll over."

"Of course," he said, and then, regrettably, he was doing what you asked. He stood up, and you rolled onto your back, your legs falling open. You were already so worked up, your arousal evident. You'd even left a wet spot on the towel. You'd have been embarrassed, but, well... he had been trying to turn you on. That was part of the appeal, right? The fact that he knew that he was turning you on.

Although now you were thinking too deeply into it again. You needed to stop doing that.

Google looked down at you, and his eyes flickered for a moment - a blue/white flash, which you knew was his way of laughing in his "native" language. 

"What's so funny?" You looked at him over the curve of your belly, as he crouched between your legs, his hands going to your inner thighs.

"Mainly the fact that you're so clearly into this," said Google. "That I don't have to do much of anything to get you so ready for me." He pressed a kiss to your belly, and then he was going off into the other room.

"Hey," you called. "What are you -"

"I need to wash my hands," he said, his tone the very epitome of seriousness. "I have excess lotion on my hands, and there is peppermint oil in the lotion." 

You paused.

Yeah, no, that would be pretty bad. You didn't want to think about getting peppermint oil on your more delicate parts. "Right," you told him. 

"I'll be back momentarily," he said, and you could hear the sound of the water running, presumably as he washed his hands. He was, indeed, back about a minute later. He grabbed your ankles, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed and shouldering your thighs open. He got on his knees between your thighs, holding them open, and then he looked up at you. 

“You were indeed back momentarily,” you told him, your voice cracking. “I’m impressed.”

“I keep excellent time,” he said earnestly. Who knew a robot could manage to sound so earnest and so full of shit at the same time? 

"Time is, indeed, of the essence," said another voice, and you jolted, rolling onto your stomach again, and off the towel. You were probably smearing more mess across the towel, which was a pity, but at least it was a towel and not the sheets. 

And... there was Wilford. Wilford Warfstache, who wasn't entirely human but also wasn't entirely _not_ human, and he was standing there, smirking at the both of you. 

"Why are you here?" Google's voice had taken on a flat, unaffected tone that meant that he was actually annoyed. 

Welp.

"I thought I'd join in on the fun," said Wilford, and he waggled his eyebrows. "I can see that you two are enjoying yourselves."

"We're enjoying _ourselves_ , yes," said Google. His tone was pointed - impressively pointed, honestly. For all that Google claimed to not really understand how people worked when it came to emotions, he sure could pack a lot into a few syllables.

"Well, I'm always one to enjoy some fun," said Wilford, his tone endlessly cheerful. He hooked his fingers under his suspenders, and he was clearly about to draw them down.

"Fun is usually enjoyable for all parties involved," said Google. 

You bit back a snort. Google's intense dislike of Wilford (while _simultaneously_ insisting that he didn't have any feelings) had always amused you. You weren't entirely sure why Google disliked him so much - sure, he was annoying, but so were plenty of other people in your day to day life. Somehow, they didn't raise Wilford's ire nearly as much. 

"I know that it's not a party if I'm not there," Wilford said, and he waggled his eyebrows.

There was a "clunk" from the depths of Google's torso, and you glanced over your shoulder at him, concerned. You didn't want him to break down or anything like that - could a sentient robot end up breaking down from sheer rage? 

... That was a sobering thought.

"Are you alright?" You were directing your question at Google, but Wilford answered it.

"I've never been better," he said. 

"Why are you here?" Google rested a proprietary hand on your lower back, and that sure was... interesting. Was he developing new parameters? You were probably going to have to look into that at some later date.

"I heard there was a good time to be had, and I thought I'd have a look-see, see if I could aid to the festivities," Wilford said cheerfully. "The party don't start 'til I walk in and all of that."

"It's not a party if all parties involved don't want to be party to it," said Google, and you glanced back at him. That sounded suspiciously like a joke. Or possibly he was infected with a virus - it could be hard to tell, with Google.

"All parties involved are interested, are they not?" Wilford's hand went to your face, cupping your cheek, his thumb against your cheekbone. 

You blushed, squirming. You could practically feel his glare in the back of your head, but he couldn't, in fact do anything about Wilford touching you. He may have been proprietary and possessive of you, but at the end of the day, you were still the one who held all the metaphorical reins.

"Would you be bothered if he joined us?" You asked Google. You didn't need to look at Wilford's face to know that he was smirking at you. 

"I don't feel anything," Google said, and maybe you were imagining things, but you thought that he sounded... stiff. Although he was a robot, so how stiff could he keep form sounding.

"We both know that's not true, old chum," said Wilford, and he sounded smug. 

"I don't feel anything," Google insisted, more vehemently this time. "I do not have feelings, and thus I cannot feel anything. Ergo, you can do anything you want."

"Isn't it adorable when he pouts?" Wilford was smirking, as one of his big fingers traced across the shape of your lips.

"I am not pouting," Google insisted. 

"You should kiss him," you said to Google. It was an obnoxious thing to say - you knew that, even as you were saying it, and Wilford's chuckle was probably proof enough that you shouldn't have said it. And yet. 

"I agree," said Wilford. "Why don't you come pucker up?"

"As you wish," said Google, and that made you bite your lip. You _knew_ that was a Princess Bride reference. You knew that he knew that it was a princess Bride reference - he'd watched the movie with you often enough. Was that a hint of some kind? Or was he just picking it out from amongst his stock phrases?

Google leaned over you, his hands on either side of your hips. You could feel his hard on, pressed against your thigh - that was always a bit of a weird one for you. How the heck he managed to have a hard on that seemed to inflate, fill with blood, when he didn't have blood, per se. And yet.

Maybe you just needed to not poke it too hard. Google had been designed by a team of experts to whatever specifications had been determined to decide what it was that the public at large wanted. It was complicated and weird and probably had vast, ridiculous amounts of unethical goings on mixed in with it, in a way that didn't seem comfortable in the slightest. 

You looked up at the two of them, kissing over you, and you tried to banish any thoughts of the ethics of the multinational corporation out of your mind. Instead, you watched their jaws working. Wilford's mustache must have been tickling Google's nose, from the way Google kept wrinkling it. Wilford's hands were roaming across Google's chest, over the shirt with the large "g". It was... it was all hot. Really hot. 

It was almost like a personal porno, and you might have even thought it was, if not for the fact that Wilford was always, _always_ in it for himself. Not always in ways that you could see directly, but always in it for himself nonetheless. 

Then again, he may have just been horny. That was a pretty strong possibility, honestly - he was always one to be ruled by his baser appetites. He kissed Google like he was trying to eat Google's face, and there was something vaguely unsettling about that - he kissed Google as if Google was a real person, and you needed to remember to not think of it like that. Google _was_ a real person, even if he wasn't the same type of real person as you were.

"You're too caught up in your head, my darling dear," said Wilford, startling you out of your ruminations. He leaned down, kissing you, and you let him. His mustache was ticklish against your upper lip, and his tongue was inside of your mouth. You were melting into the kiss - into the warmth of his body. His body was always a bit too hot, you'd noticed in the past, and it hadn't changed yet. 

Google's hands were still on you, and it was moving between your legs, stroking across delicate, often untouched parts of you. You shivered, your mouth falling asleep against Wilford's. 

"You want it so badly, don't you?" Wilford crooned, and his hands were on your face. It was awkward - this whole position was awkward, with him bent over like this, his face so close to your own. You could see his hard on through his pants, and that was exciting, wasn't it? There was still the illicit thrill of knowing that you were getting this kind of reaction.

... Admittedly, Wilford was easy to rile up at the best of times, let alone a time like now, but it was the principle of the thing, right? In theory, at the very least.

"I want it," you repeated, although at this moment in time, you weren't sure what "it" was. You sure did want a lot of _something_ , though. A whole lot of it. 

"Are you absolutely sure?" Google's hand was on your ass now, a hand that could have been described as proprietary, if not for the fact that it belonged to a robot, and in theory at least, robots couldn't own property. 

"I'm sure," you said. 

"So you'd best be going, wire head," said Wilford, making a dismissive hand gesture.

"No," you said.

"Hmm?" Wilford raised an eyebrow. 

"No," you repeated. "I want both of you." It was a bit of a risky gambit, since Google could get a bit... shirty, if you pushed him too hard, but he didn't seem to be too bothered. 

"As you wish," said Google, and you had to bite back the grin. "So what do you want us to do to you?"

"Whatever you want," you said, then you paused. "Whatever you want which is physically possible," you amended, because Wilford could get... ideas of a certain type. He'd never been actively violent with you, but you'd seen what he could get up to, if he set his mind to it.

"Fair enough, fair enough," said Wilford. "That is completely doable. Much like you are." 

There was another "clunk" sound from Google, deep within his torso. You had a feeling he didn't appreciate the joke. 

"Well," you said. "Well."

"Well?"

"I just... need a moment," you said. "While I figure out what I'm going to do."

"You're not going to be doing much of anything," Wilford said. " _We_ are going to do all the work, and you're going to sit back and enjoy yourself." He sat back, clearly pleased with yourself, and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes yet again. Oh, Wilford. 

"I have an idea," said Google. He said it so neutrally, and yet it still sent a shiver down your spine. He was always very... creative with his ideas. Maybe it was his access to the internet, directly into his head - having all of that perversity directly beamed in probably did things to a person. Robot. 

"Well," said Wilford, "I am all ears!"

* * *

You were between them. You were _very_ between them, and you were shaking, as Google's cock slowly slid into you. It was so big, so hot, the kind of heavy that you associated with a good silicone dildo, only not, because it was also alive... sort of. Alive, for a given value of alive. 

Wilford's cock on your tongue was very much alive - you could feel his pulse hammering against your tongue, smell his sweat as it filled up your nose, your whole head filled with it like a car window steaming up. 

Google was fucking you, deep and sweet - his cock slid inside of you like a promise, and it was hitting that good spot inside of you, as he draped himself over your back, his hand right where it was appreciated. Every one of his thrusts was pushing you forward, deeper onto Wilford’s cock. It was… it was all a lot, honestly. 

You were trying not to gag, as Wilford’s hands rested on your head, keeping you in place as he fucked your face. To his eternal credit, he was at least being polite about it. He wasn’t going too deep, he wasn’t being too rough. Just the steady slap of his balls against your chin, his cock still as deep inside of you as he could get it without you gagging.

Google, in turn, was flexing his cock inside of you as his fingers worked their magic. You weren’t going to last very long like this, that much was for sure. 

So this wasn’t the relaxation that Google had planned for you. You’d have to make it up to him. You had a feeling you’d manage, somehow…


End file.
